


Anticipation

by rowaning



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Other, takes place in the timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowaning/pseuds/rowaning
Summary: Waiting is the hardest part
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Anticipation

Eldarion took a deep breath, and stepped forwards. The others followed suit, and then they were gone. It was kinda anticlimactic, in Einstein’s opinion. No explosions, no pops or bangs or bright flashes of light. To be fair, his best work rarely came with explosions or bright lights either, but at least he had the sense to add his own sound effects. That was the problem with academics these days; too much gravitas, not enough style. And they called him crazy!

He scoffed at the empty room, and the broken Gate hummed back. Now that he was alone, the place seemed even more sinister. And kind of agoraphobic. Had the ceiling been that high up before? And the walls were kinda far from each other. And that hole he could see the freaky red sky through was way too big.

Ok. Not staying here. Not alone. Time to go, head back to the beach, maybe drop by Curie’s and see how she’s doing. Wait, no. Nap first. Find a smaller room, make a comfy chair, nap, leave. Yeah, that was a good idea. Nap, leave, come back in a week to check if they came back. Good plan.

* * *

**Week One**

The way-too-big room was still empty save for the fragmented Gate when Einstein returned. He did a quick search of the building, but there was no one around and no sign that anybody had passed through, neither his friends not the creepy cultists from before.

He spared a moment to wonder where the cultists had gone. Through the Gate, maybe. Or teleported away. Or went out into Rome proper and never came back. Maybe they got eaten by the big weird dogs. Einstein had never considered himself a vindictive man, but he hoped they’d been eaten by the big weird dogs.

He did a few more circuits of the building before admitting to himself that there was nothing to see here. No people, no change. He hauled some of the preserves up from the cellar, making a neat little pile just out of range of the Gate. That way if they came back while he was gone there’d be some food waiting for them. He should leave a note, too. Or not, because he didn’t have paper. Next time, he’d bring paper. Just in case they still weren’t back, so he could leave a note.

* * *

**Week 4**

Still nothing. Einstein knew it the moment he teleported in, but he still went over the routine. Check the Gate for any changes. Check the building for any signs of life. Poke his head outside and do a real quick scan of the Roman streets for tracks he could see from the door. Duck back in the second he heard a howl coming from somewhere far off in a direction he couldn’t discern.

He scribbled another note and set it on the slowly growing pile of papers, replacing the nice stone paperweight he’d brought from his office last week. A quick check of the pile of preserves – haven’t been disturbed since last time – before Einstein carefully places down his cargo: bedrolls surreptitiously purchased in the Cairo marketplace. One, two, three, for, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Eldarion, Grizzop, Azu, Sasha, Hamid, Ed, Bi Ming, Ishak, Emeka, Vesseek. One for everyone, once they got back.

* * *

**Week 10**

Back in the real world, in cities that weren’t broken with magic that worked, everything seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket that’s moving too slowly to properly do anything about. But here in Rome, in this little bubble of normalcy surrounded by the insanity of the broken Weave outside, nothing has changed. Einstein could almost believe time didn’t pass here, if he hadn’t checked himself multiple times. Hell, he could almost believe that time hadn’t passed here since Rome had fallen all those centuries ago. It just gave off that kind of vibe.

Another note for the stack. Some more supplies for the pile. Rope, more preserves. A few sets of warm weather gear. He had to scrounge up some more gold before he could get the rest, and he’d have to find somewhere outside of Europe to buy them.

* * *

**Week 20**

10 packs, one for each of them, although Einstein kept tweaking the contents. Enough preserves for a feast of dried fruit and salted meat. He’d built barriers over the windows, reinforced the door, done his best to cover the hole in the ceiling. And still no one came back.

The shattered Gate hummed and pulsed in the centre of the room, its scattered fragments echoing the soft rhythm. He imagined it was taunting him. Asking him how he could consider himself a great wizard if he couldn’t even best a simple Gate. Asking him why he was even here, why he thought he could help anyone. _What are you waiting for?_ it whispered in that low, steady thrum _. No one’s coming._

* * *

**Week 23**

Curie had asked him where he went. Why, twice a week every week like clockwork, he would vanish for a few hours and be completely out of reach. It was a reasonable concern. Not reasonable enough for him to tell her the real answer. Luckily Curie, like most people, only had a certain level of Einstein tolerance before she would sigh deeply and wave him off with exasperation. He’d used this to his advantage many times before. It wasn’t his fault people stopped listening when they didn’t hear what they were expecting, and that simple fact had gotten him out of a decent chunk of tight scrapes.

He spent some time practising his conjuration, spent some time checking his barricades. Spent some time staring at the Gate, daring it to reveal its secrets. As usual, it didn’t.

* * *

**Week 37**

One of the dogs came close to the palace. Einstein watched it sniff at a weird stain on the broken steps from behind a barricaded window. It didn’t look right. Nothing in Rome looked right. Everything here was bad and broken and awful.

The thing raised its head and howled. More dogs deeper in the city joined in, and the thing leapt up and ran down a street, out of sight. Maybe it was going back to its pack. Did those things have packs? Einstein didn’t know enough about broken-magic-dog-things to say. Maybe one of his friends would know. He should ask them, when they come back.

* * *

**Week 60**

It was getting worse, back in the real world. He’d been with Curie when they’d gotten the news from Versailles, about Guivres. Back before everything, he’d never been super enthusiastic about the whole separatist thing. It had just kinda come with the job. Now, though, now that thing that had taken people and turned them wrong had taken a Meritocrat. People were one thing. People were small, susceptible to magic and disease and all sorts of nasty things. And sure, dragons weren’t immortal. Einstein knew that all too well. But they were huge and magical and powerful, and losing one was a blow they probably couldn’t recover from. The Harlequins had spent centuries acting against the Meritocrats. This plague, this blue-veins, this nameless faceless thing that was terrorizing the world had taken one over in less than a year.

That too-big room in Rome with its cracked tiles and broken Gate and bags of supplies awaiting the arrival of their owners was starting to feel disturbingly more like a sanctuary each time he came back to it.

* * *

**Week 75**

Einstein was almost ready to give up. No, that wasn’t right. He was ready to give up. It wasn’t even hope that kept him coming back anymore, just routine and the unnatural stillness of this room frozen in time. He sometimes thought about walking into the portal, just to see what would happen. He wouldn’t, of course. They needed him, back out there in the real world. He was helping. But he still wondered about the twisted broken thing that gently thrummed in the centre of the room, the constant low sound that one could eventually mistake for silence, if they listened long enough.

* * *

**Week 78**

He’s done his usual checks, added some more rope to the packs, and is about to leave when... something changes.

It’s small at first. A crackle of static electricity. He can feel hairs start to rise on the back of his neck. The hum of the Gate changes pitch, its rhythmic pulsing changes frequency. The static builds in the air, until its filled with an almost tangible tension that seems to strain at the edges of reality itself. Einstein’s never been diving, but he imagines this must be what deep water pressure feels like.

The hum becomes a whine and the room feels like its been emptied of air and the Gate pulses faster and faster and the walls seem to _twist_ , and then, in a moment, its over. And standing in front of the shattered Gate are seven people, who finally came back.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in bed on my phone the day before i posted it. ive got multiple wips going and i was like 'hmm i bet an einstein perspective on the timeskip would be interesting'  
> i was right but it would be nice to do the things i actually mean to get done sometimes


End file.
